


In Absentia

by lockheed_london



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockheed_london/pseuds/lockheed_london
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for this prompt on the Cabin Pressure prompt meme (http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=13041633#cmt13041633): "Martin reaching his heat a day or two early while Douglas is off doing a final run with MJN."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Absentia

Douglas fusses around the flat and Martin lies on the sofa watching, an amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth that he hides by drinking his morning coffee. He would bet a month’s salary – hah, the salary he doesn’t actually _have_ – that he knows what’s on Douglas’ mind; what’s causing that little line between his eyebrows and the distracted plucking of his fingers at the braid on the sleeve of his uniform jacket.

And when Douglas comes to sit on the sofa by Martin’s outstretched legs and says, “And you’re sure you’ll be fine,” Martin laughs aloud.

“Yes.” He smiles, setting his coffee aside to reach for Douglas’ hand and squeeze it tightly. “I really will. We’ve got everything we could possibly need, and my heat’s not due to start for another thirty-six to forty-eight hours. That’s _loads_ of time.”

Douglas fusses a little, pulling the throw down off the back of the sofa and tucking it over Martin’s legs as he considers, and Martin indulges him despite already being a perfectly comfortable temperature without it.

“Even so...” Douglas says vaguely, and when Martin tugs at him he shifts farther up the sofa so he can lean down for a kiss. “I don’t like it.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Martin insists, and moves so he can rub his cheek against Douglas’. “I’ll be fine.”

Douglas’ hand settles on his nape, and Martin closes his eyes and has a moment of revelling in Douglas’ proximity: six months of living together and it hasn’t yet lost the power to make his heart skip.

But right now Douglas seems to be the one in need of reassurance, despite it being Martin whose heat is due, and Martin leans back and reminds Douglas, “You know I’ve been dealing with them for years, before we got together and long before we even met.”

Douglas snorts. “Before we got together you were living in a poky little attic and were alarmingly underweight–”

“Lean,” Martin protests, unable to let this pass, “I was _lean_ , not–”

“And as for how you made do before we met I don’t know, since you’ve been quite disgracefully close-mouthed on the subject. So excuse me if I don’t trust your definition of ‘fine’.”

Martin squirms. Thus far, despite Douglas’ multiple heavy hints, he’s not volunteered any information about the assorted part-time jobs he did while putting himself through flight lessons. He used to _wash dishes_ in a greasy-spoon cafe, for goodness’ sake, and probably around the same time that young Captain Richardson was breaking in his first pair of epaulettes. The jobs got him where he is today so he doesn’t regret them, not exactly, but nor is he in a hurry to volunteer information about them.

“And it’s only bloody standby, too,” Douglas grumbles. “Not even all that important, really.”

“She wants to fly this afternoon,” Martin points out, even as he winds his arms around Douglas to stroke his hair. “She’s only keeping you on standby because she couldn’t be exact about the departure time, you know that. So it _is_ important really.”

Douglas huffs into Martin’s throat in reply, and Martin rubs his cheek against Douglas’ hair and closes his eyes as he smiles in sheer happiness. Douglas is so very free and open with his affection, at least in private. In public they’re just as they always were, thank goodness, but behind closed doors it’s quite different. Martin’s shoulders are well-rubbed these days, his feet always toasty-warm when he falls asleep, and he’s so well-fed that he’s starting to become _soft_.

“You’ll fly this evening,” Martin murmurs into Douglas’ hair, “stay over, and return tomorrow morning. And I’m not going to start properly until tomorrow afternoon, or evening, or maybe even the next morning.”

The only response he gets is a sigh, and Martin laughs and squirms slightly as Douglas’ breath tickles his throat.

“I’ll just be here reading my book,” Martin says, and when he glances at the clock he shifts and prods Douglas. “Go on, you should leave. You’re going to be late.”

“Late for sitting around doing nothing,” Douglas says, but he sits up. “You’ve got my mobile number, and also Carolyn’s and Arthur’s if you can’t get hold of me.” He tucks the blanket a bit more firmly around Martin’s legs and Martin resists the urge to roll his eyes. “The number of the hotel is on the fridge, and I know you know Gerti’s satellite phone number. Call me if you need anything, anything at all. Understand?”

This time Martin does roll his eyes, but he sits up to give Douglas a quick kiss.

“Go on,” he says, pushing at Douglas gently. “I’ll be fine, now go.”

But Douglas seems dissatisfied with such a brief goodbye kiss; he mock-grumbles at Martin and crowds him back down onto the sofa, kissing him and nuzzling at his throat until Martin laughs at the ceiling and wriggles under Douglas.

“Go!” he exclaims, finally getting a hand between their bodies to plant a palm squarely on Douglas’ chest and give him a little shove. He’s far too happy and stupid and in love to put any real force behind the command, but he tries. “Go on, go, you really are going to be late now.”

Douglas exhales but sits up, capturing Martin’s hand against his chest and lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss before getting up – _finally_ – to collect his wallet and keys and get ready to go, and Martin surreptitiously shifts his legs, loosening the tightly tucked blanket, and watches Douglas.

Of course he knows, he _knows_ , that it’s entirely the pre-heat hormones that are making him feel so soft and loving and (although he’d rather die than admit it) a touch emotional, but being fussed over by his alpha sends a shiver down Martin’s spine and makes all sorts of warm and messy feelings unfurl in his chest. And merely the simple fact that Douglas is now his alpha, that Martin can think of him that way... Martin doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that.

At last Douglas is ready and he comes to give Martin a final kiss before leaving. Martin tilts his face up and Douglas’ hand is very gentle as he cradles Martin’s nape and gives him the softest and most affectionate of kisses.

“I love you,” Douglas murmurs against his mouth and Martin grins widely.

“I love you too,” he says breathlessly, his heart giving its familiar little skip that always comes with hearing those words from Douglas.

“I’ll see you very soon,” Douglas says and then, with a last rub of his thumb against Martin’s scalp and an exchange of goodbyes, he’s gone.

Martin stretches lazily in the silence left by Douglas’ departure. He’s so happy that he fancies he can feel it welling up under his skin and seeping out his pores; he’s booked a few days off for his heat and he has a list of jobs that need to be done around the flat before it starts, but for now he just wants to sit here and bask in the warmth that comes from knowing he’s utterly adored.

***

Douglas drives to the airfield with only half his mind on what he’s doing. He had disdained – on this occasion – the offer of a lift from Carolyn or a taxi pick-up: when they get back to Fitton he wanted the convenience of being able to get straight in the car and drive home to Martin without having to wait for anyone.

Martin. The thought of him brings a faint smile to Douglas’ lips, along with what, in anyone else, he’d probably describe as a disgustingly besotted expression. Douglas has enough self-awareness by now to know that he prefers being in a relationship to being alone; Martin has been rather reticent on the subject of his previous relationships but Douglas has gathered enough to know that, while Martin isn’t innocent in any sense of the word, he’s not progressed this far with many people, possibly not with anyone.

It had been Martin who had pushed Douglas to take this job. Bad enough that they were both going to be on leave for Martin’s actual heat and that the company would effectively shut down for a few days unless Carolyn could persuade Herc to step in; the least they could do was to make sure things could run as normal in the days preceding it, and so Douglas had given in to Martin’s persistent prodding and had rung Carolyn to say grudgingly that he was available after all.

That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, though, and once he parks at the airfield he takes his mobile out and reassures himself that the battery is at full charge and that he has a good network signal before he makes for the portacabin.

***

Martin is halfway through vacuuming the flat when his mobile rings; he almost doesn’t hear it but in the nick of time he sees it rattling on the coffee table, screen flashing, and he shuts off the vacuum cleaner and dives for it. Some sixth sense tells him it would take very little right now to make Douglas seize upon the excuse to come home to check on him, and a missed call would certainly qualify. At any other time Douglas’ constant proximity and need to check in with him would drive him up the wall but here and now, with his heat so close, Martin loves Douglas’ solicitousness.

“Hello,” Martin says, already smiling.

“Goodness, you sound out of breath,” Douglas says, and Martin tucks the phone between shoulder and ear as he starts to tidy the books on the coffee table. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

Martin laughs. “Of course not, get your mind out of the gutter. I was vacuuming.”

There’s a heavy sigh from Douglas and Martin bites his lip, knowing what Douglas is about to say. Sure enough Douglas begins pointedly, “When we spoke about my doing this trip I distinctly remember you telling me to go because you were going to be sitting around doing nothing anyway. In fact I believe ‘lounging’ was the term you used, and this–”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Martin argues, and he’s glad that Douglas can’t see his foolish grin at the way Douglas’ concern for him warms his heart. “It’s hardly running a marathon, and I’ll go mad if I have to sit around doing nothing.”

“Which is why I should be there to entertain you,” Douglas retorts, quick as anything, and Martin wanders through into the kitchen.

“Entertain me from there,” Martin says distractedly. He opens the freezer and looks at it critically. The ice has built up rather badly on the cooling element and it could really do with being defrosted. Well, it’s not as though he has anything better to do today.

“Entertain you from here,” Douglas says, and had Martin been paying more attention he would have noticed the tone in Douglas’ voice.

“Yes. Come on, don’t you have a word game going with Carolyn, or something?”

The freezer bag is right at the back of the cupboard and Martin has to kneel and stretch to retrieve it.

“Well, yes,” Douglas says. “I do. However I’d rather talk to you about what I’m going to do to you when I get back.”

 _Now_ Martin’s attention is on Douglas, riveted on him in fact, and his groping for the bag falters as he says stupidly, “Oh?”

“I’ll be back in plenty of time before it starts,” Douglas says, “which is just as well, because you’re gorgeous when it’s just beginning. Your face flushes and you start to bite your lip more often.”

“Oh yes?” Martin says faintly. He stops reaching for the bag and sits on the kitchen floor, leaning back against the cupboard. He knows he bites his lips – they always end up chapped by the end of his heat – but he didn’t realise that _Douglas_ had noticed such a tiny detail.

“Mmm.” Douglas’ voice lowers a bit. “Maybe, while you’re still working up to it, you’ll let me go down on you.”

“Of course I–”

“I mean _right_ down. Not sucking your cock, wonderful though that is. I mean you on your front with me lying between your legs, licking you open while you start to get wet.”

Martin’s face _burns_ at this image; he makes an incoherent noise, and has to ball his fist tightly so that when he next speaks he sounds reasonably composed. “And then?”

“And then...” Douglas sighs heavily, and Martin squeezes his eyes shut. “And then I’d do whatever you wanted, darling. Slide up the bed and just push straight into you? But I wouldn’t want to go too deep or too hard for the first one of your heat. Maybe on your side, so that I could touch your nipples and kiss you through it, but it wouldn’t be too much. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Martin breathes down the phone. It’s a good thing he’s already sitting down, as his legs feel like water; his breathing sounds loud in the empty room and then his eyes snap open in alarm at the thought that the room where Douglas is sitting is perhaps not quite so empty. “Are you alone? Where are Carolyn and–”

“Of _course_ I’m alone!” Douglas exclaims, the deep seductive timbre of his voice vanishing. “Martin, have you gone completely mad? Carolyn and Arthur are both in Gerti, and most definitely out of earshot. Good God, what a notion, you’re going to give me nightmares.”

“Sorry,” Martin says, feeling slightly ridiculous. “I know you wouldn’t, I just...”

The mood has been well and truly broken with that. Martin feels a small pang of regret even as he admits to himself that it’s perhaps just as well – it’s hardly fair to either of them to get all worked up when they’re not in the same place to actually _do_ anything about it.

They chat for a few more minutes, speaking idly of this and that, until Carolyn calls Douglas in the background and Douglas has to go. He still finds time for a last dig at Martin, though, and says pointedly, “ _Lounging_ , remember,” and ringing off before Martin has a chance to reply.

Martin laughs a little to himself, loving Douglas’ sense of humour, before returning to his task. He fishes out the freezer bag from the cupboard, decanting all the frozen food into it before finding space for it in the fridge, and leaves the freezer to begin slowly defrosting while he goes off to finish the vacuuming.

The flat is small enough that it doesn’t take long at all, and Martin even sorts out some of the random jumble of papers and letters that have been accumulating on the corner countertop in the kitchen. When that’s done he grows impatient with how long the freezer is taking and fishes a blunt knife out of the drawer to loosen some of the ice, careful all the while not to damage the cooling elements. It’s not that Martin thinks Douglas would be angry, per se, but he can’t bear the thought of explaining to Douglas just how it got damaged. Douglas already teases Martin about the almost obsessive fits of domesticity he gets just before his heats. “Nesting,” he calls it, and Martin generally flushes and slides away and protests that there’s a place for everything, and everything in its place. He’s never been able to bear a messy living environment.

At last the freezer is done, and Martin transfers all the items back into it with a distinct feeling of satisfaction. His hands are cold, though, and he runs the warm tap over them before abruptly deciding what the hell, he might as well take a shower as his work has left him a bit hot and sweaty.

The shower is warm and soothing, the smell of Douglas’ shower gel making Martin smile in a truly smitten fashion, and Martin closes his eyes and drops his head forward so the water can reach his nape and trickle down between his shoulder blades. It’s all lovely, and when Martin catches himself yawning for the third time in as many minutes he rouses himself to get out.

It was obviously more relaxing than he thought; Martin dries himself with limbs that feel heavy and sluggish, and when he’s finished he frowns at his T-shirt and jeans. He doesn’t want to put them back on, although he’d fully intended having a bite of lunch and then perhaps tackling the laundry basket. Instead he doesn’t feel hungry in the slightest but he is, however, simply longing for the chance to lie down and close his eyes. It’s strong enough to be a physical _tug_ , and Martin wavers for only a few moments before succumbing.

He drops his damp towel on top of his clothes instead of hanging it up to air – feeling a transgressive little thrill; he’ll get up and pick it up later, of course, but for now it can lie there – and wanders through to the bedroom stark naked. He tugs the curtains closed, thankful that they look out over nothing but trees, and heaves a sigh of contentment as he crawls back under the thick, fluffy duvet, nuzzles into Douglas’ pillow, and closes his eyes.

It’s some time later that he wakes. The curtains block out most of the light, but let through enough to show that the position of the sun has shifted and that it’s now late afternoon, but that’s not what’s woken him. There’s a dull ache low down in his abdomen; at first Martin thinks that it’s just the discomfort of an overfull bladder but he rolls gingerly onto his side and realises that he doesn’t need to go, not really. He gets up anyway and wanders through to the bathroom, and when he takes himself in hand he bites his lip briefly at the pleasurable buzz that it sparks.

He flushes the toilet when he’s done, washes his hands, and stands there indecisively for a few moments. There are things to do, things that he’s already delayed... but he still feels oddly slow and heavy. Not _tired_ , exactly, but just a bit lethargic. As though the most appealing thing right now would be to lie back down in bed with his book, and after a few moments longer he makes for the bedroom. The laundry can wait, and goodness knows Douglas will be nothing but delighted if he calls to find Martin lounging around in bed.

Martin crawls back under the duvet with a sigh of contentment, and picks up his book: a whodunit, and he’s been getting quite absorbed in it. He’s close enough to the end that he might be able to finish it before heat starts, and he props a pillow against the headboard and starts to read.

It’s good, but somehow it’s not quite holding his attention as it has previously. Martin finds himself easily distracted, his mind turning insistently to thoughts of Douglas and what he’s doing, and – more pertinently – what he’s going to be doing once he gets home. The ache in Martin’s stomach has returned, and he shuffles down the bed slightly to ease the kinks in his spine, and lets himself daydream.

Since he and Douglas began their relationship, Martin has gone from viewing his heats as an inconvenience to be tolerated as best as possible to actively looking forward to them. Douglas – usually affectionate in a quiet, undemonstrative sort of way, not smothering Martin but never far away if Martin needed a hand with something – became the most solicitous person imaginable. He would barely let Martin lift a finger; if Martin had been feeling his usual self then it would have driven him mad, but when he was hot and feverish with the ache of wanting gnawing at him, when all he wanted to do was lie in bed with legs spread and fists bunched tightly in the cool sheets, desperate for something, _anything_ , in him, it was wonderful to have Douglas taking care of him.

Martin sighs and reaches out to put his book back on the nightstand. Clearly he’s not going to get anywhere with it at the moment, and he lets himself slide further down the bed and turns his face in Douglas’ pillow before drifting off into a light doze.

It’s not quite full sleep but it’s more than the half-awake daydreaming he was doing before. Martin keeps just enough awareness to know that the vague ache in the small of his back is still there and he twists and turns on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. But when he rolls onto his front and the brush of sheets against his cock sends a sharp thrill of pleasure through him, he wakes up the rest of the way with a gasp.

Bloody hell, surely it couldn’t be... Not _already_. But Martin rolls his hips against the mattress, only slightly, and the resulting pleasure tightens his nipples and makes his cock start to thicken.

He groans. Oh God, of _course_ that would be what it was, how bloody typical of his luck. A bit unusual for it to start this much earlier than predicted, but everyone’s cycles were slightly irregular occasionally. Any other occasion and it wouldn’t have been a problem, as Douglas was always prepared and stocked up with supplies well in advance, but not _now_.

Martin inhales deeply, trying to calm himself, but now that he knows what it is he can’t resist reaching down between his legs to rub his fingers gently across his hole. He’s still tight and unyielding, not even properly wet yet, but the pressure of his own fingers there makes excitement coil in his belly and he breathes deeply and tries to think.

He ought to get up and change the bedding; he was going to do it later this afternoon, before he got distracted. Douglas has an old set of sheets, worn into softness by repeated washings, which feel wonderful on Martin’s skin. The thick duvet is set aside in favour of several blankets: Martin always gets terribly hot during his heats and he’ll want only one, perhaps two, while Douglas gathers the rest around himself. But as Martin makes to get up and deal with things, a sharp cramp spears through him and he subsides, biting his lip. Having Douglas to look after him has made him _weak_ , previously he would have forced himself to get up regardless, and as he gathers himself for another attempt his mobile rings.

Realistically, there’s only one person it’s likely to be, at this particular time, and Martin inhales and tries to sound normal as he answers, “Hello?”

“Hullo darling.” Douglas’ voice is smooth and affectionate, and Martin squeezes his eyes shut. If he betrays, by word or tone, that something is wrong then Douglas will be in the car and on his way home in an instant. And MJN _need_ this job, by God they do.

“How are you?” Douglas asks.

Martin forces himself to laugh, sounding carefree. “Oh fine. A bit dull, really, nothing happening here.”

He bites his lip hard to shut himself up; he’s always been a terrible liar.

But Douglas only hums distractedly, obviously trying to also follow something going on in the background.

“We’ve had the call from Ms Sands,” Douglas says, “and she wants to leave a bit earlier than anticipated. So I suppose this is just a call to check that...” he pauses diplomatically, and Martin _knows_ without being told that Arthur or Carolyn are in the background, “...that everything’s okay.”

Martin clutches the phone tightly, as though it’s Douglas’ hand he’s hanging on to. _No, it’s not,_ he wants to say, _it’s started early, please come home to me, I want you. **Desperately.**_

But he swallows hard, and says lightly, “Everything’s _fine_ , honestly. I’m just reading. I thought I might change the bed in a bit.”

Douglas makes a noise of displeasure at this, as Martin had known he would, and the deep rumble of it makes Martin’s stomach give a little flutter.

“Don’t,” Douglas chides him. “You should take it easy, I can take care of that when I–”

But Martin loses track of what Douglas is saying, for at that moment something surges inside him and he flails wildly and grips the edge of the mattress tightly as he feels the first smear of wetness between his buttocks.

When he can breathe again he becomes aware that Douglas has stopped speaking, and Martin says vaguely, “Yes, fine.”

“ _Martin_.” Douglas’ voice is sharp. “Everything _is_ alright, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” Martin says quickly, kicking himself for forgetting – even momentarily – about Douglas’ powers of observation. “ _Fine_. Go on, you should go. Have you filed the flight plan?”

“Of _course_ I’ve filed the flight plan,” Douglas says exasperatedly. “I did do just one or two flights before we met, you know.”

Even through his trepidation Martin smiles, “Well then. I’ll see you when you’re back.”

“Yes.” Douglas lowers his voice, and Martin has a mental picture of him turning away, cupping one hand around the mouthpiece to keep their conversation private. “I’m looking forward to it. I love it when you’re in heat, you’re delicious.”

“Well,” Martin says, with perfect honesty, glancing down his body to where his cock has started to flush and thicken further in response to the slickness between his legs. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, in that case.”

“Mmm,” Douglas sighs, almost growls, and the next instant he’s all business. Martin presumes one of the others has come up to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

“Yes.” Martin swallows hard, steeling himself. “Tomorrow. Bye then.”

“Goodbye, darling,” Douglas says, and hangs up.

Martin reaches out to put his phone back on the bedside table before, freed of the constraint of Douglas’ listening, he rolls onto his front, grabs two handfuls of the pillows, and moans loudly. God, he needs to get up and sort out some supplies; he rolls over to tug open the bottom drawer of the bedside table and looks at his toys. He’d brought them with him when he moved in and hadn’t used them since, apart from one exciting evening where Douglas had confessed he was longing to watch Martin playing with them and Martin had indulged him, and now he digs them out of the drawer and forces himself to stand, gritting his teeth and hissing a little as his stomach cramps viciously. He takes them through to the bathroom to wash them. It’ll all be fine, really. Just... fine.

***

“Oh _fine_ ,” Douglas had said ungraciously, when the call came through to fly, and Carolyn had given him a warning look. She knew very well why Martin was unavailable and why Douglas was less than delighted about the timing of the booking, but everyone was maintaining the fiction that Martin had just happened to feel like a few days off work and Douglas had just happened to feel like joining him (because the thought of Carolyn knowing about their sex life was too distressing to contemplate).

Now Douglas goes through the motions almost mechanically, not making a single joke to Carolyn or Arthur and giving a cabin address that is perfunctory at best, since all his thoughts are with Martin.

Martin. Who has freckles dusted across his shoulders, and who always tries to do too much during the build-up to his heats, and who likes to sleep pressed up against Douglas as though Douglas is his own personal heat source, and about whom Douglas finds himself almost stupidly obsessed. Carolyn asked him to do this job and Martin insisted he should and Douglas had gone, but entirely because of Martin insisting and not Carolyn asking. He had a tendency to fuss over Martin during his heats, he knew that. Martin never seemed to mind, but all the same it was probably nice for him to not have Douglas breathing down his neck for a day.

Glancing at the clock, Douglas comforts himself with the thought that he can call Martin once they arrive at their hotel; he’s being ridiculous, but it will be nice to hear Martin’s voice again before he goes to bed. Martin had sounded slightly odd when they spoke earlier, although that might have just been because Douglas was distracted by all the preparations going on around him. But yes, Douglas will give him a call.

Except that the universe clearly doesn’t agree with Douglas’ plans, because there’s a headwind that delays their arrival so they miss their landing slot and have to hold, and then traffic jams from the airport to the hotel make them later still, and _then_ the hotel can’t find their booking. By the time Douglas finally gets to his room he looks at the time and calculates it to be half-past ten in the UK. Not an impossible time to call, but not great either. If Martin has decided to have an early night then Douglas doesn’t want to wake him, and he weighs his mobile in his palm and considers for a long moment. At last he compromises, and sends Martin a quick text: _Just arrived. Thought I might call, if you’re still up?_

Douglas busies himself unpacking and getting ready for bed, but in truth they’re only staying for one night and there’s almost nothing to unpack, and after ten minutes he’s reduced to sitting up in bed, ostensibly reading but every sense tuned to the silent mobile sitting on the bedside table next to him.

***

The buzz and clatter of Douglas’ text to Martin’s mobile goes unheard by Martin: when it comes through Martin is kneeling up in bed, a towel-covered pillow jammed between his knees and one hand reaching down and behind to push a toy up inside himself. His other hand is touching his nipples, rolling and pinching them, before it gets too much and he has to reach down to take his cock in hand and pull at it. He’s already come twice but it’s vaguely unsatisfying: the pillow he’s kneeling astride is nothing like the width and solidity of sitting on Douglas’ hips.

It was all well enough when all Martin could do was fantasise about Douglas, back before they got together, but now he _knows_. He knows that Douglas is broad enough that if they have sex like this then Martin’s inner thighs will be the slightest bit sore the next day, from straining to accommodate him, and that when Douglas is lying on his back then his hands never stop touching Martin: cupping his nape, stroking the backs of his fingers down Martin’s face, and of course tugging at his cock.

Martin gulps desperately, tightening his grip on his cock and pulling at it frantically as he imagines Douglas’ hands on him and Douglas’ deep voice purring to him. His orgasm builds slowly – no surprise, given how exhausted he is – but at last he’s there and he quickly pushes the toy inside himself all the way down to its unyielding silicone knot and bites his lip as he doubles over, pulsing weakly into his hand and onto the towel. His thighs tighten on the pillow, which gives easily. Far too easily; Douglas would be solid under him, and he would run his hands up Martin’s thighs approvingly when Martin shook and gripped his knees tight against Douglas’ sides.

Martin’s body clamps tightly around the artificial knot, even once Martin has finished coming, and Martin moves slowly and carefully to keep it in him as he tugs the pillow out from under himself, mops himself off roughly and discards the towel, and eases himself down to the mattress. Douglas’ pillow smells like him, and Martin pulls it close to his face and inhales longingly. He should sleep. It’s late, and perhaps he can sleep away the frantic, heat-ridden hours between now and the moment Douglas will walk through the door. If he closes his eyes and pretends then he can imagine that the knot inside him is Douglas’, that Douglas is spooned warm and comforting behind him, holding him while he sleeps and ready to kiss him awake when morning comes.

Martin reaches out to turn off the bedside light and picks up his phone. Douglas should be at the hotel by now, and perhaps Martin will just send him a text to say goodnight. But when he picks up his phone he sees that Douglas has already beaten him to it, and Martin checks the timestamp on the message before calling Douglas back – it was sent recently enough that chances are Douglas will still be awake.

Douglas is.

“Hello,” he says, his voice warm and affectionate, “I hoped you’d call. I thought you might be having an early night.”

“Well, I’m in bed,” Martin temporises, conveniently omitting the twin facts that he has his favourite toy pushed deep enough inside him that the top couple of inches are snugged tightly inside his vaginal canal, and that he’s alternating between pushing the heavy duvet away because he’s too hot, and then getting cold and tugging it back over himself.

“I’m just about to go to sleep,” Martin says honestly, “but I wanted to hear your voice.”

“And I like hearing yours,” Douglas responds instantly, his smile audible in his voice. “How was your evening? You sound a bit out of breath – have you been doing chores? I did tell you that I would–”

“No, no,” Martin cuts in, “not at all.”

“Oh?” says Douglas, and Martin can hear that Douglas is trying to draw him out.

But he refuses to be drawn, and says merely, “How was the flight?”

“Fine,” Douglas says. “A bit of a headwind so we were late getting in, but otherwise unremarkable.”

“Mmm.” Martin closes his eyes and snuggles under the duvet, phone pressed to his ear. This isn’t a bit like having Douglas there in person to lull him to sleep, but it’s the best he’s going to get for now and he lets Douglas’ words wash over him.

Except that he’s forgotten how unnervingly perceptive Douglas can be when he wants to, and Douglas suddenly says, “ _Martin_ ” very sharply, marking Martin jump and try to recall whether Douglas had said his name already.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright? Truthfully.”

Truthfully, Martin can no longer bring himself to evade Douglas’ concern. All he knows is that he’s tired, the ache of unsatisfied lust twisting low in his gut, and he suddenly wants Douglas very badly.

“I miss you,” Martin says simply. “It’s not the same falling asleep without you.”

“I know,” Douglas says. “I miss you too.”

He doesn’t sound entirely satisfied with this information; Martin is considering blurting out the full truth when a yawn creeps up on him.

“Sleep in tomorrow morning,” Douglas urges him. “I might be home by the time you wake.”

“Mmm.” It would be nothing short of wonderful if Martin’s body would let him sleep in, but as it is Martin can almost guarantee that he’s going to wake in the small hours, gasping and desperate all over again.

“Goodnight then,” Martin says. He sets his jaw. He’ll get through it, he always does. Douglas still has to pilot home tomorrow, and he’ll hardly be giving his full attention to his work if he’s worried about Martin. And worried _for no reason_ , too, as though this isn’t something Martin has dealt with for years now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Martin says, and can’t resist adding, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yes.” Douglas hesitates for a long moment, and Martin holds his breath and can’t decide if he wants Douglas to ask again or hopes he doesn’t. He doesn’t think he has it in him to evade another direct question from Douglas.

But Douglas only says, “Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

After Douglas hangs up Martin clutches the phone tightly and snuggles further under the duvet. He’s sticky and his skin is faintly itchy with drying sweat, but he doesn’t want to get up to shower. He’s exhausted enough to sleep straight through to Douglas’ arrival tomorrow, in fact, and he closes his eyes and hopes that perhaps, by some fluke, he might just manage it.

***

After he hangs up Douglas sits for several long moments, frowning down at his mobile phone cradled between his palms. He can’t stop thinking about Martin; entirely normal, of course, this close to Martin’s heat, but even so it surely wasn’t his imagination that Martin had sounded just the slightest bit odd on the phone.

More than likely it was just the effect of having to fall asleep alone: Martin was hardly a shrinking violet but he had mentioned in the past that he slept better with Douglas there (and Douglas had sternly told himself not to grin like a doting idiot, and then done it anyway), and Douglas has to admit that he’s grown used to Martin’s warm presence at his side.

All that aside, this unease feels like more than just displeasure at being apart but Douglas can hardly ring Martin back for more reassurance, like a child frightened of shadows.

Douglas gets up, and goes to brush his teeth. The best thing is just to go to sleep – the sooner morning comes, the sooner he’ll be on his way home.

His sleep that night is deep and dreamless, and he awakes the next morning with one thought in his head: to get back to Martin. He taps his fingers impatiently on the table when Carolyn and Arthur take what seems to be a truly ridiculous length of time over breakfast, and growls in annoyance at ATC when they declare that it doesn’t matter if they _are_ ready thirty minutes early, they still have to wait for their original departure slot. The coffee on the flight tastes frankly horrible – Douglas strongly suspects Carolyn of reusing the grounds – but he can’t summon the focus needed to be bothered about it. Something in him is pushing him onwards, hastening him home across the miles separating him from Martin.

At last – at _last_ – Gerti touches down on home soil, and Douglas gently steers her to her usual spot with a sigh of relief. He goes through the post-landing checks as quickly as he can; once upon a time he wouldn’t have bothered, if he’d arrived home so wound up, but Martin is clearly a good influence on him. And then as soon as he decently can Douglas sits back in his seat, switches his phone on, and calls Martin.

It’s only when it starts ringing that Douglas bites his lip and glances at the time. Is it too early to be calling Martin? On a normal day he would definitely be up and about by now, but then again if he’s decided to sleep in Douglas doesn’t want to wake him–

“Hello?”

Douglas’ heart gives a great leap. “Martin. Hello darling, I’m–”

“Oh thank God,” Martin gasps. “Are you still at the airfield?”

“Yes.” Douglas frowns. Martin sounds out of breath, almost panting.

“Come home,” Martin says, and he makes a faint noise before repeating, “ _Now_. Come home.”

Douglas’ mouth is dry, his heart pounding. “Are you... Martin, has it started already?”

Good God, Martin must be _aching_ if it has, and when Martin stutters, “Y-yes,” breathlessly into Douglas’ ear, Douglas unfasten his seatbelt and gathers his belongings with grim, single-minded focus.

“There are toys in the bedside table,” Douglas tells him, even as he seizes his flight bag and leaves Gerti to jog down the stairs.

“I know,” Martin says, sounding almost despairing. He gasps wetly, making Douglas quicken his stride across the parking lot, before adding, “I’ve got one in me now but I can’t... it’s not enough, _Douglas_ , I want you, God, are you on your way?”

“Yes,” Douglas promises fervently, standing by his car and fumbling through his pockets for his keys. “I’m at the car now. Darling, I’m going to have to hang up to drive home, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t trust himself to drive safely if he has Martin on the phone, moaning in his ear as he touches himself, and Douglas grits his teeth when Martin sobs, “ _Hurry_.”

“I will,” he promises, getting in the car and starting the engine, pausing for his seatbelt as an afterthought. “I swear to you I will, but I have to go now.”

Martin makes a despairing noise. He sounds almost distressed, and Douglas grits his teeth and says fiercely, “ _Hang on_ , I’m on my way,” before hanging up, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, and pulling out of the car park.

Douglas is fairly sure he stays within the speed limit on the drive home, or at least close to it; after all, it will only hold him up further if he gets pulled over for speeding. But at last he pulls up outside his block of flats, and he grabs his bag and races up the stairs to his flat.

Martin’s smell hits him as soon as he opens the door, and Douglas inhales deeply. God, Martin smells _divine_ , and Douglas has no sooner shut the front door behind himself than Martin calls, “Douglas?”

“Yes,” Douglas says, dropping his bag vaguely somewhere out of the way and starting down the hall. “Yes it’s me.”

Douglas has barely got a few steps, however, before Martin sticks his head around the door to the bedroom, and Douglas stops short. Martin’s face is flushed, his hair in disarray; he looks, frankly, exactly like Douglas would expect someone to look after masturbating frantically for hours with no relief.

“Oh God, you’re back,” Martin breathes, and before Douglas can come to tumble him back into bed Martin starts towards him, stumbling the few steps that separate them and flinging himself into Douglas’ arms.

Douglas hugs Martin tightly to him, taking a step back with the force of Martin’s embrace, before steadying him and folding Martin closer against him. He drops his head to nuzzle Martin’s hair, inhaling deeply, and his hands wander from Martin’s back down to his arse and Douglas exhales on a growl.

The touch of Douglas’ hands to his arse makes Martin moan desperately, clinging to Douglas and seizing handfuls of his uniform jacket. He’s squirming against Douglas, rubbing his erection mindlessly against Douglas’ hip, and Douglas presses hungry kisses to Martin’s hair, the side of his face, his shoulder. When his hands slip down lower to the backs of Martin’s thighs he finds them already wet with fluid, and his hands migrate back up almost automatically to dip his fingers between Martin’s buttocks.

Martin makes a strangled noise into Douglas’ shoulder at this, his knees threatening to buckle under him, and Douglas quickly cups his hands under Martin’s arse to keep him standing; Martin seems to take this as encouragement as he lifts one leg to wrap it around Douglas’ hips. Douglas tightens his hands to help Martin balance, and the next thing he knows he’s got _both_ of Martin’s legs around his hips, with Martin’s arms tight around his neck and Martin nuzzling at his throat and whimpering in desperation.

“Bloody hell,” Douglas grits out, tightening his hands on Martin’s arse and hoisting him up slightly. He turns blindly towards the nearest wall and presses Martin against it – it’s that or drop him – while Martin’s legs clamp tightly around his hips.

“God, I want you,” Martin tells him, his face pressed tightly against Douglas’ shoulder and his words slightly muffled. “I want you so much, so bloody much, I can’t even think.”

Douglas grinds harder against Martin, and Martin all but mewls in his ear. God, but Martin is a gorgeous sight like this, and Douglas noses at the hair covering Martin’s ear and asks him, “Have you come already this morning?”

Martin shakes his head and Douglas – slightly hard since Martin had appeared and flung himself at Douglas – feels himself finish getting hard so fast it’s almost dizzying. His cock is thick and heavy with blood, his foreskin pulled back and the fabric of his underwear teasing at the sensitive head, and Douglas groans as he pushes his hips against Martin and slides his fingers up to tease at the slickness between his cheeks.

“ _Please_ ,” Martin sobs, rubbing his cheek against Douglas’ as Douglas touches him. “Don’t make me wait any longer, I can’t–”

“I know,” Douglas says, finding Martin’s mouth for a kiss and trying to gentle him. “Easy now, I know.”

He’s going to have to let go of Martin to do this, Douglas will drop him if he tries to do it any other way, but Martin won’t like it. Sure enough Martin protests when Douglas draws back and coaxes Martin’s legs to uncurl, and when Douglas sets him down Martin surges forward to cling to Douglas frantically, kissing his face and mutely begging as Douglas fumbles with his belt.

“I know, I know,” Douglas breathes, in response to Martin’s wordless desperation, “just hang on, I’m trying to–” 

Once Martin understands what Douglas is trying to do he drops his hands to help, although in truth he’s more of a hindrance, but finally Douglas has his belt open and Martin makes a greedy noise and shoves his hands inside Douglas’ underwear. The feel of Martin’s hands on his cock is almost enough to makes Douglas’ own knees buckle, but he reaches for Martin and encourages him to lift his legs back to their former position.

“Alright then,” Douglas grunts, firming his hands under Martin’s thighs and hefting him a little, “come on.”

Like this he can’t reach his cock, but Martin is already ahead of him and he squirms his hand down between their bodies to hold Douglas’ cock steady as Douglas blindly tilts his hips forwards and up slightly. It takes a bit of work, and Douglas has to carefully let Martin slide a few inches further down the wall, but eventually Douglas’ cock pushes between Martin’s buttocks, and when the head presses against Martin’s hole Martin’s other hand tightens on Douglas’ nape. Douglas gives a breathless groan in reply and strains to press forwards just a little more... and then the head slips inside and at the same time Martin makes a sharp noise. It’s not a good sound: it’s harsh and ragged, and sounds very much as though Douglas is hurting him, and Douglas freezes instantly.

But that’s not what Martin wants: he squirms and slides further down the wall and Douglas tightens his grip even as more of his cock pushes up into Martin, and as Martin makes the noise again Douglas revises his estimate.

It’s more like the noise Martin makes when Douglas is giving him a back massage, particularly when he finds knots that have been there so long they’ve attained almost ping pong ball size. It’s a sound of mingled discomfort and intense relief, and to cement Douglas’ impression that he should keep going Martin takes his hand off Douglas’ cock, winds both his arms around Douglas’ neck, and clings tightly.

“Go on,” Martin pants, his fingers curling and his nails scratching at Douglas’ jacket.

And so Douglas grunts his acknowledgement and rolls his hips, pulling his cock slightly out of Martin before pushing it back inside, and Martin makes that same noise again, the same mix of half-pain, half-relief.

“Darling.” Douglas presses his mouth to Martin’s temple, suddenly emotional and wanting to touch Martin, to caress him, but unable to move his hands from their current position where he’s holding Martin up. “Are you alright? You sound like I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Martin moans, his thighs like iron around Douglas’ hips and his breath coming quick and fast in the crook of Douglas’ neck. “Oh God, you’re not, why have you stopped...”

Martin turns his face to rub his cheek against Douglas’ collarbone, whimpering a little, and Douglas repeats his movements as Martin gasps.

It’s barely anything at all: like this Douglas can’t do more than push the top few inches of his cock inside Martin and pull it out again, but Martin pants desperately and groans and whimpers as though Douglas is doing something spectacular. Douglas is nowhere near being able to get inside Martin’s vaginal canal – that will have to wait until he’s got Martin laid out on his back, his knees over Douglas’ shoulders – but this certainly doing _something_ for Martin, as his noises get louder and more urgent with each of Douglas’ thrusts and he writhes so much Douglas has to hold him bruisingly hard in order not to drop him.

Martin smells positively luscious like this; even through the scent of dried sweat that clings to him and his sleep-sour breath, the smell of his skin is there underneath it all, and the rich scent of his heat. Douglas nuzzles Martin’s hair – wild and unbrushed – and has a sudden wave of tenderness for him.

The state of Martin isn’t doing anything to turn Douglas off, rather it’s quite the reverse. All Douglas can think of is how very exhausted and wound up Martin must be, and that – when this wave is over and Martin has slept, to reduce the purple shadows under his eyes – Douglas wants to kiss Martin as he comes awake and then run him a bath. Only lukewarm, as the skin of Martin’s torso is too hot even through Douglas’ shirt, but Martin is fastidious as a cat and Douglas doesn’t imagine that he _likes_ being so unkempt. And then perhaps while Martin is in there Douglas will change the bedding, as he would bet that Martin wasn’t able to do it before being caught unaware.

Douglas is brought back to himself by a sob from Martin: just one, and Martin immediately turns his head to press his face into Douglas’ shoulder, but it makes Douglas press harder against Martin, almost curling over him as he rests his cheek protectively against Martin’s hair.

“Come on,” he says softly, as though someone might overhear them whereas in actual fact this flat happens to be more or less soundproof. “Come on, my darling, you’re alright, I’ve got you.”

This sort of talk outside of heat makes Martin bristle at the implications of omega helplessness, but during heat he not only allows it but even seems to like it, as far as Douglas can judge. Martin’s sobs come more frequently now, albeit still smothered against Douglas’ shoulder, and Douglas soothes him, murmurs words of affection to him, until Martin presses his open mouth against Douglas’ shoulder and gives a loud, wordless groan, and Douglas feels a warm flood of wetness low against his stomach.

Martin stays tense through his orgasm, gripping fistfuls of Douglas’ jacket and pulsing around Douglas’ cock, but when it’s done his thighs loosen and he goes so suddenly limp that Douglas has a flash of alarm that this may be the point where he drops him.

“Hold on,” he orders Martin brusquely, hefting him and stifling a groan as his cock slides free, and wonders whether they can make it to the bedroom. Martin tries to help but he’s loose and uncoordinated now, and at last Douglas has to concede defeat: he side-steps and sets Martin down, bare-arsed, on the stack of post on the hall table. Martin exhales hard at this, his arms unwinding from Douglas’ neck, and one hand cups Douglas’ face while the other drifts down between his legs, to where he’s wet and aroused.

Douglas covers Martin’s hand on his face and looks down at him. Some of the lines have smoothed away from his eyes and mouth but Martin still looks, bluntly, completed exhausted. Too exhausted for heat to have only come on this morning, in fact, and Douglas holds Martin’s gaze as he asks gently, “When did you start?”

Martin must be tired: he doesn’t try any of his usual evasions or half-truths, as he usually does when he doesn’t want to answer a direct question fro Douglas but can’t bring himself to tell an outright lie. He only murmurs, “Yesterday afternoon.”

“Yesterday after-” Douglas chokes a little on the words. He can only imagine the sort of rest Martin has had – or, to be more accurate, the _lack_ of rest – and he can’t help chiding Martin slightly, “You should have called, I would have come home.”

“I know,” Martin says, his eyes drifting closed and his hand going limp on Douglas’ cheek, and Douglas leans down to cup Martin’s face in his hands and kiss him tenderly. This isn’t the moment to argue about it, not now, and so Douglas tries to use the kiss to communicate all his affection for Martin, and his fond exasperation at Martin’s stubborn self-sufficiency. It works, as Martin is smiling after a few seconds, humming happily into the kiss, but it also has an unexpected side-effect.

Thanks to Douglas’ late arrival his sense of timing is slightly off: subconsciously it still feels as though he’s at the start of Martin’s heat, whereas in reality Martin long past that stage and is now in full heat. And so when Douglas tries to draw back from the kiss Martin winds his fingers into Douglas’ shirtfront and moans his name pleadingly, and Douglas curses himself for being foolish enough to initiate a kiss with an omega in full heat and not expect it to escalate. Douglas breaks the kiss anyway, and pulls back just enough to look at Martin.

Martin’s face is flushed; the hand that had drifted down between his legs has been lightly touching his hole the whole time they’ve been speaking, but now Martin has started to rub at it with more intent, and as Douglas watches he pushes two fingers inside and whimpers a little.

“Let’s go to bed,” Douglas suggests, but Martin’s fingers tighten in his shirt.

“No.” Martin has an odd expression on his face, a curious mix of aroused and anxious, and Douglas automatically strokes a hand down Martin’s flank. “Please, I can’t get there... can we...”

They’ve never done it on the hall table before, although the sofa, the armchair, and once – memorably – the kitchen counter have all been christened, but it looks as though they’re doing it now. Douglas pauses to shrug off his uniform jacket and hang it on the coat rack before he steps in closer, leans in to kiss Martin, and growls, “How _dirty_ ,” at him.

Martin exhales hard as Douglas kisses him, letting out something that sounds very close to a whimper again, and Douglas strokes the backs of his fingers down Martin’s cheek.

“Will you?” Martin wants to know, and Douglas huffs a soft laugh.

“Of course I will,” he says. “When have I ever been able to say no to you, when you’re like this?”

Douglas reaches down to take himself in hand and rubs the head along the slick skin behind Martin’s balls, and Martin gasps. But he won’t take his fingers out of himself and at last Douglas has to catch hold of Martin’s wrist and gently draw his hand away, kissing away Martin’s protesting little noise, before he can grip himself and push his way back inside Martin.

This time is much better: Douglas can see Martin’s face this time, and revels in every flicker and shift in Martin’s expression as Douglas fucks him. When Martin’s eyes close and he frowns slightly Douglas is quick to kiss the tiny line that forms between his brows, and when he catches his lower lip in his teeth then Douglas cradles his face and gently eases his lip free so that he can hear all Martin’s noises.

And Martin is definitely noisier this time around. The position allows Douglas to get deeper inside Martin than he was previously, and Martin’s approval of this is vocal, to say the least. He whimpers and mewls and claws at Douglas’ back, fingernails sliding uselessly against the soft cotton of his shirt. The table rocks a little with their movements and Douglas hopes devoutly that it holds up but can’t bring himself to care enough to stop and move elsewhere.

Martin is flushed all down to his chest, and a particularly hard thrust from Douglas makes him almost wail and fling out a hand, sending the bowl for keys, change, and other assorted debris crashing to the floor. The stack of post and newspapers works its way out from under Martin and flutters to the floor, newspapers scattering their inner pages everywhere, and Douglas couldn’t give a damn, because Martin’s voice has started to crack and Douglas merely widens his stance and re-doubles his efforts.

This time, when Martin comes, he cries out and grabs at the nearest bit of Douglas available – his bicep, as it turns out – while his other hand pulls at his cock and his come streaks his stomach, and Douglas shoves himself as deep as he can and holds still while Martin comes, until Martin gasps shakily and his cock gives a last weak spurt.

It’s only at that point that Douglas, although his orgasm is tantalisingly within reach, grits his teeth and makes himself pull out, belatedly using his shirt cuff to try to catch the little rush of slick that follows: Martin tends to get even wetter when he’s just had a couple of orgasms. And this time he doesn’t make the same mistake: Martin is pink-cheeked and heavy-eyed and deliciously kissable, but Douglas resists temptation. Instead he takes a moment to tuck himself back in his trousers and roughly do up his belt, exhaling a little in discomfort, before telling Martin, “Put your arms around my neck.”

Martin does so, loosely at first but his grip tightens when Douglas slides one arm under his thighs and the other around his waist and picks him up. It’s nothing but alpha posturing, pure and simple. If Martin were his usual self he would never in a million years let Douglas do this, but as it is he rests his head against Douglas’ shoulder and closes his eyes.

They make it to the bedroom without incident, which is just as well given that Douglas honestly can’t think of a worse point at which to potentially trip and sprain something, and Douglas is glad when he can put Martin down. Martin may be lean, from all the physical activity he does, but he’s still no featherweight; Douglas tries to be gentle as he sets Martin down on the bed but Martin still goes down with a bit of a bump, and Douglas doesn’t even stop to take off his shoes as he crawls on the bed after him.

“Hello,” Martin tells him, smiling and already looking far happier than the tense, frantic creature who greeted Douglas on his return. “Hello, you. I’m _so_ glad you’re home.”

Single-minded, Martin goes straight for his belt, but he’s trying to kiss Douglas and hug him at the same time and ends up pulling the leather tongue entirely too hard in the wrong direction and making Douglas jump.

“Hello to you too,” Douglas says, cupping Martin’s face with one hand and covering Martin’s hands on his belt with the other. He’d much prefer that he was the one dealing with the zip that’s so close to his currently very erect cock, rather than Martin when he’s clumsy with lust. “Did you miss me?”

“I missed you _so much_ ,” Martin tells him, abandoning Douglas’ trousers to fling his arms around Douglas in a fierce hug as Douglas grins. “Honestly, it was awful.”

Before Douglas can reciprocate the hug Martin has pulled back and started on the buttons of his shirt, and Douglas laughs a little. It’s a bit like going to bed with a whirlwind: usually Martin is happy for Douglas to take the lead but when he’s set on something then Douglas has learned that the best course is just to let him at it and try not to get in his way. Martin’s fingers dart down the buttons of Douglas’ shirt, but he’s only halfway done when Douglas finally loosens his zip and Martin’s attention is immediately elsewhere.

“Oh,” he says, half-moans, sounding greedy as he stares openly at Douglas’ erection. “Oh yes, _please_.”

Grinning, not making any attempt to hide his amusement, Douglas runs his hands up Martin’s sides and tips him onto his back, crawling between Martin’s thighs when they fall open instinctively.

“Was there anything _else_ about me you missed?” he asks teasingly, dipping his head to rub his nose affectionately against Martin’s and shivering a little as the sensitive head of his cock bumps against Martin’s inner thighs.

“Lots of things!” Martin protests, even as he lifts his knees to squeeze Douglas’ ribs, his hands sliding inside Douglas’ open shirt. “Your smile, and your voice, and the way you take all the hot water in the shower and then blame it on the old boiler – _ah_.”

Douglas pushes inside him, loving the way Martin’s eyes flutter closed as his train of thought is so effectively derailed, and settles his weight onto his elbows as he slides into Martin as far as he can go, groaning a little at the wet, hot squeeze around his cock. He eases his hands under Martin’s head – they’re lying perpendicularly across the bed, with no pillows in reach – and cradles his skull, winding his fingers gently into Martin’s hair. The first two times were entirely for Martin, to take the edge off his desperation, but this one is for both of them, and Douglas wants to take his time and show Martin just how very loved he is. Martin seems to have the same idea, for his arms twine around Douglas’ neck and he lifts his head to kiss Douglas’ cheeks, his brow, his mouth, and pulls back to give Douglas a soft, private smile.

“You’re so good to me,” Martin murmurs to him, and when Douglas shifts his weight and tries a gentle thrust Martin sighs out a sigh that’s half a moan.

“You deserve goodness,” Douglas tells him, pressing soft kisses to Martin’s beautiful, flushed face. “I love you, you know.”

These words never fail to make Martin smile, and sure enough his face lights up with delight as he says, “I love you too. So much, you’re just... you’re wonderful.”

Douglas thrusts a bit harder, and is rewarded with a hitching gasp from Martin. One of Martin’s arms unwinds itself from Douglas’ neck and he strokes Douglas’ back, and Douglas dips his head to nuzzle the soft skin of Martin’s throat. Was there anything better than this? Martin’s legs around his waist, Martin limp and half-boneless from two orgasms already, and Martin’s sighs of pleasure in his ear, and Douglas kisses Martin’s neck and tries to curl his hips upwards with every thrust to touch the perfect place inside Martin. Martin is enthusiastic about it: his eyes are closed but he keeps trying to kiss Douglas, laughing a little when their noses bump, and giving an unabashed moan when Douglas gets something perfectly right.

It’s languorous and gentle, but Douglas knows it won’t stay that way for long. He _knows_ Martin, and he knows how Martin gets when he’s winding up to orgasm; he’s fully prepared for Martin to get bossy and start issuing orders, but even so he’s distracted enough that it takes him several moments to register that Martin has put his hand on Douglas’ chest and has started to squirm, saying, “Mmm, no, wait a moment, hang on.”

Douglas stops, head muzzy with the rising insistence of his own orgasm, and finds that all Martin wants to do is to push Douglas onto his back, climb on top of him, and sit on his cock.

“ _God_ , that’s sexy,” Douglas groans, once Martin has sunk all the way down to rest his full weight on Douglas’ hips, and he runs his hands up Martin’s thighs to cradle Martin’s hips and caress the points of Martin’s hipbones with his thumbs.

“Hmm,” Martin says, smiling at Douglas with eyes full of mischief. “You too.”

So saying, he reaches down to finish unbuttoning Douglas’ shirt, spreads the sides wide, and splays his fingers on the newly bare expanse of Douglas’ chest. Martin moves his fingers through Douglas’ chest hair slightly, brushing over his nipples, and Douglas inhales and tries not to let his hips buck impatiently. He’s mostly successful, although when Martin sighs and leans down to rub his cheek against Douglas’ chest, cat-like in his sensuality, Douglas’ breath catches at the resulting change in angle of his cock inside Martin.

“Martin,” he manages, sounding a bit strangled, and Martin braces his palms on Douglas’ chest and pushes himself back up.

“Yes?”

He looks gorgeous, all flushed cheeks and bitten lips, and Douglas deeply appreciates the view but he’s also increasingly aware that he’s not come yet, and that Martin will probably need to come once more before they’re done.

In lieu of words Douglas cups his hands over Martin’s bum and thrusts up slightly, making Martin inhale sharply and moan.

“ _Yes_ ,” Martin says again, but this time with intent, and he closes his eyes, braces his hands on Douglas’ torso, and begins to roll his hips.

This time Martin clearly means business: his thighs flex and he starts to move faster, and after a while he begins to bite his lip and pull at his cock. Douglas tries to help, taking his cues from the cant of Martin’s hips and the rhythm and force of his movements, but mostly he feels as though he’s just lying there clutching at Martin. It’s surprisingly arousing to have Martin on top of him, basically using Douglas to pleasure himself as though Douglas is some sort of live sex toy, and Douglas watches Martin’s pleasure greedily, breathing deeply and telling himself not to come yet.

After a while Martin’s movements begin to get shorter and rougher; he curls forward slightly and a familiar little line appears between his eyebrows. He’s obviously getting close, and Douglas grits his teeth and exhales silent thanks, as he can feel his cock throbbing and his knot starting to thicken.

“ _Nngh_ ,” Martin moans, folding forwards suddenly. His hand is frantic on his cock, and his knees shift on the mattress and tighten against Douglas’ sides. “Oh... oh, I’m almost... ngh... I’m going to–”

The next moment there’s a warm spatter across Douglas’ stomach and Martin’s desperate, heaving gasps as he shudders, and Douglas digs his fingers into Martin’s arse. He’s almost there, his body winding up in preparation for orgasm; after a few more thrusts his knot is starting to be too big and too hard for Martin to be comfortable with Douglas pulling it out of him, and Douglas holds still and shivers slightly until the first wave hits him.

He groans Martin’s name, and doesn’t realise he’s lifting his hips until Martin’s hand plants firmly on his chest to counterbalance himself, at which point Douglas squeezes Martin’s hips and forces himself to lower his arse back onto the bed. He still keeps a tight grip on Martin, though, whose fingers curl into Douglas’ chest hair slightly in response, and Douglas catches his breath when the last shivers of orgasm die away.

It’s only then that he opens his eyes to look at Martin, and he’s immediately struck by how close to sleep Martin looks. His eyelids look heavy, his gaze soft and unfocussed, and the motion of his fingers as they card through Douglas’ chest hair has taken on a gentle, meditative quality.

“Darling,” Douglas murmurs, reaching up to touch Martin’s face and feeling a helpless surge of love for the way Martin turns his face into Douglas’ palm and closes his eyes. “Why don’t you come down here and rest while we wait this out? You look so tired.”

“Mmm.” Martin nuzzles Douglas’ hand a little before, with a deep sigh, folding forwards to do as Douglas suggests.

It would be wrong to say that Douglas had forgotten about the fact that his knot was inside Martin, as that fact is occupying every scrap of his attention that’s not currently fixed on Martin. However he’s certainly forgotten about the fact that not even the most flexible couple in the world could find a way to comfortably stretch out together once they’ve knotted in this position, and Martin gets halfway down before his shift in posture makes Douglas’ knot pull uncomfortably inside him, forcing noises of discomfort from both of them and making Martin sit back up in a hurry.

“Ah,” Martin says, looking considerably more awake than he did a minute ago.

Douglas grimaces. “Yes.” He sighs, runs a consoling hand along Martin’s side. “We probably should have thought of this earlier.”

Martin pulls a face, but takes hold of the hand Douglas offers him and twines their fingers together. “Yes.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Douglas grits out between his teeth, feeling his balls start to lift and tighten again, “I don’t think this one is going to last very long. My–”

Douglas cuts himself off to groan as he shudders and comes inside Martin; he tries to keep as still as possible but he can’t help tilting his hips up to grind just that bit deeper inside Martin, and Martin hums his approval and spreads his thighs wider to sit more firmly on Douglas’ hips.

“My first knotting of your heat never lasts very long, remember,” Douglas gasps, when he can speak again. “This one should be fairly brief.”

Martin doesn’t breathe a word of complaint, merely trails his fingertips through Douglas’ chest hair and grips Douglas’ hands hard each time Douglas shakes and groans his way through another orgasm, but he looks so weary that Douglas is nothing but relived when he finally feels himself start to soften.

“Here we go,” he breathes a few minutes later, when he shifts and his cock starts to slide out of Martin. “Carefully, now, I think it’s done.”

Martin shuffles forward a bit and Douglas reaches down to ease himself free of Martin; Martin gasps briefly as the widest part of Douglas’ knot slips free and Douglas curses – they should have waited a bit longer – but the next instant Martin is all smiles, sinking down to lie directly on top of Douglas.

“ ’m _so_ glad you’re home,” Martin says, fading already as he tucks his head under Douglas’ chin and sighs.

“I’m glad to be home.” Douglas runs his hands down Martin’s back. “But you realise that I will need to take my clothes _all_ the way off at some point, yes?”

“Mmm,” is Martin’s only answer, and he burrows his hands under Douglas’ shoulders, evidently settling in for a proper sleep, and Douglas rolls his eyes. The air of the bedroom is cool on his bare thighs and he feels slightly ridiculous to be lying here with his trousers around his knees, but Martin is giving off warmth like a miniature furnace and Douglas subsides, smoothing his hands down Martin’s spine as Martin’s breathing slows and deepens. Five minutes won’t hurt, and then he’ll shift Martin and get up to take care of things. Like, for example, that tangled pile of clothes and towel he glimpsed through the open bathroom door, which surely must be a side-effect of Martin’s early heat since Douglas can’t think of any other reason for Martin to be so uncharacteristically sloppy.

Just five minutes. Perhaps ten, at maximum.

***

Martin wakes alone. Alone, but not lonely; he has memories of falling asleep on top of Douglas, with Douglas’ hands warm and heavy on his skin, and of Douglas gently easing himself out from under Martin after some indeterminate amount of time, cradling his head and murmuring vague nothings in response to Martin’s sleepy protests.

Martin rolls onto his stomach and stretches. He feels light, almost giddy, with the relief that comes with the knowledge of Douglas being home. His heat isn’t even half-over yet, but already everything seems to so much more manageable now that he has Douglas to lean on.

A classic example of this, Martin finds as he turns onto his back, is that Douglas has taken the opportunity to swap the duvet for blankets while Martin was asleep, and Martin grins widely. He must have been entirely exhausted to sleep through _that_ , but now that the changes are made he’s infinitely more comfortable with only a light blanket on him.

“Someone looks happy,” Douglas says, and Martin turns his head in surprise to see Douglas leaning against the doorframe and smiling at Martin’s obvious delight.

“Hello.” Martin beams up at him. Douglas is in his dressing gown, his clothes gone, and Martin stretches luxuriously. “I am. My alpha is just back from a trip – why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“Hmm.” Douglas comes to sit on the edge of the bed and leans down to kiss Martin. “Nice sort of chap, this alpha, is he?”

“He’s wonderful,” Martin says, winding his arms around Douglas to hug him tightly, and Douglas leans down to nuzzle Martin’s throat. “Handsome, kind, funny, generous, affectionate...”

Douglas makes an approving sort of purr against Martin’s skin, and pokes him lightly in the ribs. “You forgot handsome.”

“I said handsome!” Martin protests.

Douglas hums against Martin’s skin. “You could say it again.”

Martin laughs at the ceiling, as Douglas’ hand worms its way under the blankets for a caress.

“Are you finished sleeping?” Douglas asks.

Martin considers. “Yes, for now.”

“Good.” Douglas sits up, and tugs at the blankets covering Martin. “Up you get, I want to change the bottom sheet.”

“Oh it hardly seems worth it for just a couple of days,” Martin says, letting Douglas steal the blankets and pull him to his feet.

“Mmm,” Douglas says, stripping the bed and shoving the blankets into Martin’s arms. “And yet let’s do it anyway, like the rogues we are.”

Martin grins, and looks for somewhere to set the blankets down so he can help. It’s so typically Douglas: Martin wouldn’t have bothered but of course Douglas will think nothing of changing the bedding and creating an extra load of laundry, purely because the older, softer sheets feel so lovely on Martin’s skin.

Douglas pretends to grumble at him when Martin moves to the other side of the bed, but between the two of them the job is done in a matter of minutes and Martin stretches a little when he’s done.

“What would you like to do now,” Douglas says, coming around to Martin’s side of the bed, and Martin steps in close for a hug. “Take a bath? Watch a film? A trip out to the local art gallery?”

Martin laughs, sliding his arms around Douglas’ waist and snuggling against him, and Douglas returns Martin’s hug readily.

“Hang on a moment,” Douglas says, unwinding his arms from Martin’s waist, “let me just...”

Douglas pushes his hands between them to undo the belt of his dressing gown, before drawing apart the sides and wrapping them around Martin. They don’t quite meet around both of them, but it’s close enough.

“Although before we do any, or indeed all, of those things,” Douglas says, “it has just come to my attention, while I was checking our supplies, that the freezer looks rather freer of built-up ice than I remember it.” His arms squeeze Martin pointedly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Martin snuggles closer in Douglas’ embrace, feeling so loved it makes his toes tingle, and declines to reply.

But Douglas persists, dropping a kiss into Martin’s hair and saying, “I thought you said you were going to–”

“Take a bath with me,” Martin says, mouthing lazy kisses across Douglas’ collarbone in a shameless attempt at distraction, “and then let’s watch a film. Can we?”

It works, as Martin had known it would.

“Your wish is my command,” says Douglas, letting the matter of the freezer go, and turning Martin loose from the folds of his dressing gown. “Go on, into the bathroom with you.”

Douglas is as good as his word. He takes a bath with Martin, and when they’re out they put on _The Great Escape_ and stretch out on the sofa watching it until Martin’s limp contentment is slowly replaced by a rising tension and he hits _Pause_ and opens the sides of Douglas’ dressing gown to place a pointed kiss over Douglas’ heart.

 _This_ time, when they have sex, Douglas piles up all the pillows against the headboard and leans back against them before he lets Martin crawl into his lap and sit on his cock. This time, when Martin’s done, he can simply lean forward and drowse against Douglas’ chest, warm and secure in the feeling of Douglas’ arms around him and Douglas’ knot thick in his arse.

They sleep and wake for food and another round, and sleep again, and the following morning Martin wakes with Douglas spooned up behind him, one arm firm around Martin’s waist. Martin stretches sleepily; this was what he had wanted, back when he was making do with toys and fantasising desperately about Douglas, and he arches lazily against Douglas and rubs a foot along Douglas’ calf to see if morning sex might be on the cards.

It certainly is: Douglas stirs, and yawns, and reaches down to fumble with his morning erection as Martin moans softly in anticipation and draws a knee up to his chest. He moans again when Douglas pushes into him, and Douglas sucks kisses into Martin’s nape as they rock together, straining lazily against each other, neither of them entirely awake yet.

(Although it gets more frantic towards the end, when Douglas growls and pushes Martin onto his stomach so Douglas can get deeper inside him, and Martin groans and shoves himself up onto elbows and knees, bracing himself against the force of Douglas’ thrusts and letting his head hang down between his arms as he shudders through orgasm after orgasm.)

Douglas is by turns passionate, tender, loving, and playful, and Martin soaks it all up like a cat basking in a pool of sunlight. He snuggles up to Douglas adoringly, and occasionally sits on top of Douglas to wrestle him into submission after Douglas tries to get up to make another cup of tea when it’s long past Martin’s turn. Martin protests that it’s _heat_ , not an incapacitating illness, and Douglas grumbles at him but at least has the sense to lie still when Martin gets off him.

It’s everything heat ought to be, in fact, and when Martin wakes on the final morning he simply lies there for a long moment, his eyes closed, revelling in the memories of the past few days. Douglas’ breaths next to him still have the slow, regular cadence of sleep, and Martin opens his eyes, rests his cheek on his hand, and watches Douglas quietly until Douglas starts to stir and mutter, at which point Martin slides close to him and brushes a kiss over his cheek.

“Morning,” Martin breathes to Douglas, as Douglas’ arms wind around him, and he lays his head down on Douglas’ shoulder.

“Mmf,” is all Douglas has to reply, and Martin smiles and rubs his cheek against Douglas’ skin and splays his palm over Douglas’ heart.

He feel sticky and sore and absolutely worn-out but he also feels so stupidly in love that surely it must be visible, and he raises himself up to press a warm, gentle kiss over Douglas’ warm, generous heart.

“I love you,” Martin tells him very seriously. He _feels_ oddly serious: here in the early morning hush with just the two of them in their bed, it almost has the air of making a vow in a sacred place.

Douglas smiles at that, his eyes still closed, and whispers, “I love you too.”

There are no more words Martin can find to say to him: those three seem inadequate to express his love for Douglas, and also the sense of joy and wonder that he feels at having this momentous thing of which he had given up all hope.

But then again, Martin thinks, rolling onto his back and guiding Douglas’ head to rest on his chest as Douglas winds his arms around Martin and slings a heavy leg across both of his, perhaps no more words are needed. Actions speak louder than words, after all, and so once Douglas has rested then Martin will ignore the protests of his sore muscles to get up and make a lavish breakfast for them both, with a pot of the strong, expensive coffee that Douglas has a weakness for. They’ll have a quiet day, and in the evening Martin will pretend to be tired and make a point of going to bed early and asking Douglas to join him, knowing that keeping up with him during his heats always leaves Douglas exhausted, and equally that Douglas would never admit – even under the most extreme duress – to anything less than infinite stamina and prowess.

Martin pulls the blankets up around Douglas’ shoulders, covering him up from the chill of the room, and cups his hand around Douglas’ eyes to shield them from the light starting to filter in around the curtains. Douglas has taken such good care of Martin over the past few days, and now it’s Martin’s turn to look after Douglas.

Until the next time.

 

**End**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * ["Don't make me wait any longer"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805809) by [basaltgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl)




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